


In Return

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [8]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: (Off-Screen But Violent), (The Real Mystery), Aegis the Mabari, Child Murder, Jealousy, M/M, Murder Mystery, Pining, The LaDeirn Estate, Why Are These Two Such Losers For Each Other?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9450605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Azzan battles his jealousy while on a job for Aveline. Meanwhile, Fenris and Isabela get close – very close.





	

Two years after Azzan had told Fenris about the spirit he carried with him through the Fade like a shadow, Fenris had, beyond all of Hawke’s expectations, actually accepted him. Fenris had even caught Hawke sneaking into his home to clean and just rolled his eyes and told him to just come in while he was around, that he wasn’t allergic to taking care of the place – he just hadn’t seen a reason to do so. And apparently, now he had. Possibly because Fenris had actually chosen to stay. Or, at least, he hadn’t yet decided to leave.

Fenris had even helped him search, though unsuccessfully, for whoever was responsible for the deaths of the family in the estate next to his own. And when the search had turned up nothing, Fenris had been in agreement with Aveline and Varric that Hawke’s home needed to be guarded for a time. Fenris had even volunteered for the duty.

It wasn’t anything he’d hoped to witness after telling Fenris about being a spirit healer. Whatever conclusion Fenris had reached, it was nothing short of miraculous. Most days, it even seemed like they were getting closer. They weren’t just allies anymore. They probably were very much like friends.

Which was great. Except when they were also around Isabela.

That wasn’t fair. Logically, in his head, Azzan could admit that. When he was alone. Away from the flirting.

But when he wasn’t alone and away from the flirting, his mind did little more than hunch into a corner, snarling. Because every time Isabela made an innuendo, every time Fenris chuckled or, Maker help him, flirted back, he wanted to take his magic and ram a chunk of ice into her face.

It was the most violent thought he’d ever had in his life. And that was counting the moment the ogre had crushed Bethany like a grape.

There was no reason for his outrage. He wasn’t avenging someone or righting a wrong. He wasn’t protecting anyone; Fenris did not need to be protected from someone else’s affections. And he knew the saying, that jealousy was nothing more than a lack of trust. That it meant a person didn’t think the other felt the same about them.

The problem was that _he didn’t think Fenris felt the same about him_.

In fact, he knew Fenris didn’t. Because Hawke was a mage.

It automatically shunted Azzan off the list of potential partners. It had nearly shunted him off the list of people the man thought he could trust. It wasn’t as if Azzan did what he did, said what he said, because he wanted Fenris to turn to him the way the man turned to Isabela. He wasn’t _acting_ anything. And – again, when alone, when thinking rationally – he knew that, no matter what, he had to stay true to himself, or anything that might form between them would be severed in time. Like pushing two magnets together, the instant he let go – the instant he let the lie slip – the magnets would push off-course once more. It would have been nothing but a waste of time and a colossal use of ego. And he knew that it would never have allowed anything to work between them.

And yet, when he heard that low, dry laugh slip from Fenris’ lips, he wished, so much, that he could be a Rivaini woman with sexual know-how and no inhibitions. It was, perhaps, if not the first time he wished he wasn’t a mage, then one of the times the wish was strongest.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d have stood a chance if he hadn’t been born with magic.

It was a horrible enough thought, as if he could somehow sway Fenris from his own choices, without it being an attempt to erase a core part of who he was. Without him trying to erase that which made it possible to protect his friends and family.

_In his head_ , he knew that. In his heart, there was little room left to care.

* * *

The road to Fenris’ house was branded into Hawke’s mind; he could be blind, deaf, and dumb, and still he would instinctively make his way to the elf’s residence. He could do the same for The Hanged Man, most likely, since another person whose doorstep he haunted was his dwarven friend. When in Hightown, however, one could be assured that he either moved toward the Keep or toward Fenris’ mansion.

Today, as spring approached with birdsong and the rising din of the market down the street, his feet traipsed the well-known path up to the more residential area of Hightown. Fenris’ home stood at the end of the walls of the city, cushioned from the markets and the wide press of residences both. It was no wonder Danarius had chosen that house as his; it was private, quiet, with neighbors who didn’t care what you were doing if you weren’t in their circles of high society. And neither Danarius nor Fenris would be the least bit interested in being in said circles, though for very different reasons.

He stopped in front of the door. As usual, it remained unlocked; the man truly didn’t care if anyone came up to his building. Azzan took a deep breath and stepped inside.

It hadn’t been that long since he’d come to see Fenris; he’d been here about a month ago, before he’d had to leave to help the men in the Bone Pit, a job that had cost him weeks as he’d worked to improve the conditions of the men and given them all check-ups. One man had asked to return to his wife, who had been expecting; in order to ensure the man’s loss at the mine wasn’t felt too keenly, Azzan had stayed to help in any way he could. He’d been back in Kirkwall for only a few days, but the length of time he’d spent without seeing his family, his friends, had felt like a lifetime. He planned on making his rounds throughout town, meeting with everyone he could, catching up on whatever he’d missed.

He hoped nothing too horrible had happened during his absence.

The foyer was dark when he stepped inside; Fenris always kept the place gloomy, even though his neighbors had at least come to realize someone stayed in the building. He wondered if he should try to lighten the place up somehow. Would Fenris be upset if he dusted off some sconces and put some torches inside? Azzan at least knew better than to try to open a curtain.

He made it to the top of the stairs before he realized he could hear Isabela’s voice from within Fenris’ room. He sucked in a breath. “…won’t be coming around, like you asked. Funny story.”

Something burned inside him. He took a slow, careful step forward, his mind buzzing oddly. “I’ll pass,” Fenris said, and Azzan had no idea why hearing the man pass up one of Isabela’s stories made him want to sigh in relief. “But thanks for the help.”

And he was back to feeling angry. Angry that Fenris had needed help, and he hadn’t been there for him. Angry that, of all people to call on to help him, it was Isabela. He hesitated outside the room, just for a moment. He could feel his heart hammering at the back of his rib cage, could feel his breath nearly whistling through his teeth. He needed to get a lid on this ridiculous reaction before he headed inside.

“Spoilsport,” Isabela said. He heard a slight shuffling, then, “why you want to squat up here in Hightown is beyond me.”

He could almost envision the shrug that accompanied another short rustle of movement. “I like the view.”

All right. He could do this. He stepped forward. “So do I,” Isabela said, and he nearly broke his teeth, he gritted them so quickly. He had to stop cold to keep from curling his hands into fists. Isabela, clearly catching his reaction, winked.

For a moment, he feared Fenris had caught his reaction, as well; he knew he shouldn’t feel so disgustingly possessive of someone who wasn’t, nor should ever, be his. Fenris had had quite enough of ownership, and he didn’t deserve more of the same. Thankfully, Fenris had already turned his head away, likely admiring that view he’d spoken of before. “Three years,” Fenris said, and Azzan shoved his problems away for the moment.

He sat, ready to do what he could for the frustration and loss he could see bubbling beneath the surface of the elf’s skin.

* * *

He sat at the table in the library, his gaze scanning over the expenses of the past year, something he would normally have started at the beginning of the month, if not for his stint at the Pit. As usual, with only himself and his mother spending, they’d managed to turn an easy profit. The work his still did, the people he still helped, ended up adding on to their careful investments of time and money to the right foundations. The mine was doing well, especially after his extended visit, and was now raking in a substantial amount, even with the extra funds he spent on the men every month, the bonuses and the better equipment, all out of his own pocket. Despite the costs of living, he and his mother were constantly gaining more money.

His thoughts went out to Merrill, and Anders, and even Isabela and Fenris. He knew they could all benefit from the money he’d raised this past month. He knew Anders was always in need of supplies, and a little money for food could never hurt. Merrill and he weren’t on the best of terms, but she had little money, and no way of gaining income. He and Varric paid for her food and home in the Alienage, and she could always use a little more to get some actual meats and greens. Isabela took care of her own squatting in one of The Hanged Man’s rooms, paying for it every time she took a job, but she would need help to ensure she didn’t spend all her coin on The Blooming Rose and searching in vain for that missing something-or-other. He would buy her more food, as well.

And Fenris… Fenris had been surprisingly graceful about Hawke’s habit of cleaning when the elf wasn’t in the building, but he doubted the man accepted because he was happy over the interruption. He likely did so because keeping the place clean kept the neighbors from complaining too loudly, which kept his squatting to a more acceptable level. The man might not too receptive of Hawke helping him out monetarily. If he were to get money to Fenris, he would have to go through Varric. Which might be considered deceptive and manipulative. Hawke closed his eyes and lowered his head onto the desk. Despite the acceptance he’d managed to find these past couple of years, it still felt sometimes like he walked a tightrope between friendship and disgust. Like there was nothing more than a field of rune traps before him. Though, at least, he no longer felt like a single wrong word would get the elf walking away from him permanently. And it had been long enough that he felt Fenris might just, perhaps, if Azzan was very lucky, stay.

He would have to ask Fenris if he would be okay with receiving money, or food, or something. And Azzan could already tell how that one would go.

* * *

“No.”

Well, he hadn’t been wrong.

Azzan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out. He sat in Fenris’ room again for the second time in less than a week. After being gone for a month, it felt oddly comfortable to be able to return. “I have extra funds, and almost everything I earn is based off either the mine, which you helped clear out, or through the small jobs I take when wandering Kirkwall and the Free Marches. Which you often help with.”

“I have no need of your money, Hawke. Leave it alone.”

Despite shooting him down rather spectacularly, the man didn’t seem unduly upset by the discussion. Maybe that could be counted as a win. “All right. A different question, then.”

Fenris stopped midway off his seat and raised a brow. “Another?”

Hawke grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Aveline has something she needs checked on, but she’s dealing with a whining noble who’s demanding the guards’ time on some property dispute. She wants something actually done on this before the end of the day.”

“What’s the ‘something’?” Fenris asked.

Well, he’d managed to catch the man’s interest, at least. “A murder. She said…” Hawke hesitated, not sure if he should be putting this out there. But he went with it, anyway. Because hiding anything was always a bad idea, but hiding it from Fenris would be even worse. “She said the wounds inflicted were similar to those found on the bodies in the LaDeirn estate.”

At the name of the estate now lying empty beside Hawke’s, Fenris perked up. The elf had somehow become arguably just as obsessed in finding out what had happened two years ago as Hawke and Aveline. He stood, looking down on Hawke, his hair falling into his face. “I take it we will be meeting up at your home?”

“In an hour,” Hawke confirmed, standing. “I’ll see who else is available. Thank you, Fenris.”

“Someone killed everyone in a building right in the middle of Hightown without anyone noticing.” Fenris moved off, already picking up his sword. “Don’t thank me.”

Hawke didn’t know how to respond. The very fact that Fenris thought catching someone like that to be something someone _should_ do was the exact reason why Azzan wanted to thank him.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” he said instead, and headed out to get the others.

* * *

Anders was busy at the clinic. Varric was busy fighting off the merchant’s guild. That left Merrill… and Isabela. He tried, very hard, to not show his frustration. It wasn’t like he disliked Isabela, or even that he resented her company. As long as it was just her, or just Fenris, he never really had a problem.

It was when the two of them were together that things got difficult for him.

“Well,” Isabela drawled the instant she entered the main lobby of Hawke’s home and found Fenris and Merrill standing on opposite sides of the room, “it’s very nice to see you again.” She raked Fenris up and down with her gaze. Hawke turned quickly away.

“I see you’re in fine health,” Fenris said. Flirting back. Azzan closed his eyes and counted to ten, then moved to speak with Merrill.

The young elf smiled at him as he came near. Despite their disagreements, the young woman still showed cheer at his arrival. “Hawke! How are you? You’re looking well. And your home, too. Is looking well, I mean. And big.” She chuckled, ran a hand through her hair. Her eyes, when she looked around, seemed even larger than usual, as if they could nearly encircle her face. “So big. Your foyer is as large as my home,” she said. “Not that that’s bad or anything! It’s very nice.”

He smiled. “Thank you.” He heard his mabari barking from the other room and leaned his head out to check on him. Aegis stood panting happily as he gazed at them. “I take it you want to come, too, boy?” When Aegis barked again, Azzan waved him forward. “Come on, then.”

Aegis danced back and forth before doing as told. Isabela walked up to the hound as he bounced into the foyer. She knelt on one knee and grabbed the dog’s face with both hands. “Who’s the smartest, bravest dog in the Free Marches? Yes, it’s you!” And she proceeded to tussle with him.

“The two of you are going to wear each other out,” Azzan said, but it was too late. Isabela was rolling on the floor. Merrill laughed and went over to cheer them both on. Fenris rolled his eyes and stepped toward Azzan.

“What did the guardswoman tell you?” Fenris asked. Fenris stood close, only about a foot away. His hands stayed at his sides.

“Not much,” he said, speaking loud enough for the others to hear. “It’s the family of a templar. There were two bodies in the house in Lowtown she wants us to check out, but no one heard or saw anything, even though the body was stabbed multiple times. She hasn’t had a chance to look into the victims’ lives too much, but so far she doesn’t know of any link between the woman and the LaDeirns.”

“So this is likely us chasing our tails,” Fenris said, a quick frown etching over his face. “A mage attacking the family of those who would capture them.”

“Possibly,” Azzan said. “But even a slight chance is better than the nothing we have now.”

Surprisingly, it seemed as if Fenris agreed. They turned in time to watch Aegis pin Isabela to the ground, though one of her hands stood out from Aegis’ neck, clenched in a fist, as if a dagger rested in her palm. Azzan smiled. “Tie,” he said, and Aegis whined and shuffled back, letting Isabela stand. The woman fluffed out her shirt and ran her fingers through her hair, a grin on her face like a Cheshire cat.

“Well, then!” the woman said, putting her hands on her hips and finally turning to Azzan – and to Fenris. She winked at the elf. “What say we finish this goose chase and move on to something more… exciting?”

Fenris smirked. His snort sounded amused. “I think we all know what would be exciting for you.”

“Oh, lots of things,” Isabela said, and Azzan had to take a step away as she moved closer. “A good fight. Sailing in a storm, riding a high wave.” She grinned. Leaned in a bit further. “And yes, riding other things.”

Azzan bit his tongue and turned to Merrill. The young elf was busy staring at Isabela with wide eyes. He moved to her, desperately trying to ignore Fenris’ rejoinder. He failed. From behind him, he heard, clear as a bell, Fenris say, “I’m sure a captain must possess expertise in riding many things.”

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, Merrill’s gaze was on him. Wider than before, if possible. And then, horribly, concerned. She’d seen. He shook his head when she opened her mouth. He doubted much could stop her from saying _something_ , so before she did, he moved to her side and quickly asked, “are you all right with helping a templar?”

“You said it was his family who got hurt?” she murmured, trying to be quiet and failing. Thankfully, her voice helped him drown out Isabela’s response. Everything but her chuckle. “They weren’t templars. Just innocent people.”

Her reasoning sounded slightly off to him, but essentially, it was true. “I agree,” he said, “though templars deserve justice, too.” He turned to the others in time to catch the look Fenris sent him. “All right, then. Since we’re all agreed, we can head out.”

The journey was an easy one, for once. No one interrupted them down the steps to Lowtown, through the marketplace, or even down the short alley on the side leading to the Hanged Man. An eerie silence surrounded this stretch of stone; the doors on either side of the home in question didn’t so much as twitch, as they might if someone leaned against them to listen in. The windows, covered by ratty curtains to curtail the worst of the lack of privacy of those stuck so closely together, didn’t move. If there were people within, they weren’t willing to show themselves. Whether people had actually heard the murder happening or not, by now the entirety of Lowtown would be aware of the deaths in their midst. Those less accustomed to battles on the street would hide for a number of weeks, until the murders bled and blurred into the countless others that had occurred in Lowtown’s history.

“A bit too much squalor for a templar,” Isabela noted, her gaze raking the door up and down. She had likely already broken the tumblers on the door in her mind.

“Apparently, he was a recruit,” Azzan said, “but had been accepted for initiation. He’d practically lived in the Chantry the past few months.” Azzan’s voice dipped low. “His wife and daughter had been waiting for him here at home.”

What he’d said, and its implications, wasn’t missed by his party. They all stared at the door a little differently then. Sorrow from the ladies. Yet Azzan’s gaze caught on Fenris, on the grim resignation in those green eyes, the thinness of his lips. Azzan’s heart skipped. He’d seen dead children before. Perhaps been ordered by Danarius to do the act himself?

He made to move toward Fenris, only for Isabela to turn a shit-eating grin the elf’s way. “What say we find ourselves a nice, loud pub after this? I think I’m going to need the drink, and company – especially certain company – is always welcome.”

Fenris nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Azzan took a deep breath. It was good that Fenris was making closer and closer relationships with people. And it was true that Azzan was not much of a drinker, so using that as an escape was not something he could help the man with. And at The Hanged Man, Fenris could expect to meet up with Varric, who would be happy to hide away with Fenris and help the elf get drunker than he’d ever been before in his life. It was good.

No, it wasn’t. He hated how close Fenris and Isabela were becoming.

It was a dark, twisted side of him he’d never really had cause to greet before. He’d heard about it. Been warned about it by his father. It was yet another feeling that could twist the spirits around him, could darken them as it would himself. It was a beacon to those who had already been turned, those demons that would prey upon his jealousy and fear – because it _was_ fear, a fear that the person he cared about would turn to someone else. That he would never be as important to them as they were to him.

It was natural, his father had said, but not something he could afford to brood upon. Now that Azzan was a spirit healer, his father’s words were truer than ever.

So, for the moment, he pushed his doubts and fears to the side and motioned toward the door. “I don’t know if Aveline thought to have the door unlocked and waiting for us. She didn’t give me a key.” He tried the handle, surprised to find it twisted easily. He shrugged. “I guess we’re meant to just go inside.”

“Couldn’t someone have just walked in?” Merrill asked, leaning around Hawke to get the first glance inside. “Couldn’t they have taken something?”

“Looters will have already gone through the place,” Fenris said, and Isabela made a noise of agreement.

“The moment someone realized no one was inside, the house would have been ransacked. Nothing’s too sacred – or too dangerous – for the desperate. Remember that, kitten.” Isabela moved away, letting Fenris take the lead. Azzan took his place to Fenris’ left, Isabela to his right. There was symbolism there, too, that Azzan couldn’t handle thinking of just then. Merrill took the rear, her staff gripped tight in both hands.

The foyer was small, just enough for someone to leave their shoes by the door and head inside. Two sets of shoes remained, one set of low-heeled pumps and a child’s dress shoes. With a sharp hiss of breath, Azzan realized the family had likely just returned from a sermon in the Chantry. His hands shook at the thought of two people being accosted just moments after returning from that haven.

A single step past the foyer showed him the beginning of what had been the end. The mother lay sprawled across the living room floor, her dress billowed around her like a yellow cloud. He took in a long breath and stepped forward. The smell of death and decay was strong, just as it had been in the LaDeirn residence. The bodies had been here for some time.

The building was a bit bigger than the average Lowtown home; the living room branched off in two directions. One led to some sort of kitchen, a tiny space that got cut off in the back by what was likely the neighboring house. The other direction led to a darkened hallway, which Azzan could only assume led to the bedrooms. The living room itself was a long rectangle of a room, a small sofa and endtable sitting against a wall. A white space said something once sat opposite them, but it was now empty. The space above the sofa also held a conspicuously blank space where a painting had almost certainly sat. Flowers lay dying on the end table before the woman’s outstretched hand. She had been reaching for something – or urging something away. Merrill gasped at the sight.

“All right,” Azzan said, forcing himself to think logically. “The killer had to get in from somewhere – Isabela, can I count on you to find out how?”

“Of course,” she said, and turned. “Kitten, you’re with me. I need to know if magic was involved.” Merrill looked at Azzan first, then, at his nod, followed after Isabela as she slipped right back outside. Likely giving Azzan the chance to find the child’s body and keep Merrill safely away.

“Fenris, I know this won’t be pretty, but I need to know how this woman died. I’ll go check the rest of the house.”

“I’m coming with you.” Azzan startled, but Fenris continued before he could even recover. “I’ve seen dead children before, Hawke. You needn’t spare me.”

Azzan grimaced. “Maybe that’s exactly why I want to spare you.” He ran a hand through his hair. His fingers caught in the tie that held the worst of it from his face. “I don’t know what we’re going to find, but if Aveline believed the deaths were like those of the LaDeirn estate, it’s going to be ugly. We just need to confirm what the initial assessment of the guards on the scene told her. And, I suppose, to make sure there aren’t any demons pressing through because of this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “it doesn’t necessitate more than one of us seeing what happened to the child.”

Fenris just waited until, the silence pressing too thick around him, Azzan lowered his hand and looked back at him. “I’m going,” the man said, and his tone brooked no argument. Azzan sighed and gave in.

As the mother reached out toward the hallway, Azzan led the way there. It wasn’t as if the smell got much worse than the living room; there was little more the scent could do to overwhelm. It was not thanks to that that Azzan knew he was heading in the right direction. It was the tightness from the Veil, the stretched, almost drooling sensation, as something reached through to stare at the goings-on of those on this side of the barrier.

They hardly made it three steps past the living room before the second body could be seen, half-hidden in the doorway to another room. He hissed in a breath. There was something about seeing a child so still, one leg curled up at an almost unnatural angle, her laced dress twisted around her other leg as if to bandage it.

While Azzan hesitated on the threshold of the scene, Fenris continued forward, his gaze sweeping up from the child’s feet up through the doorway, taking in what had to be the young girl’s body, the way she’d died. Azzan forced himself to move, to stand beside Fenris and look for himself. His stomach churned worse and worse with every step he took.

He’d seen many bodies. He’d never seen one so small.

She was so short she would have been lucky to reach his chest. So young. Her dress, blue as the evening sky, was ripped on one sleeve, horribly wrinkled around the back shoulders. He could easily imagine what had happened, how the killer had grabbed the fleeing child from behind, how he’d twisted her around – and there. Azzan could see the dark red and black splotches around her neck, the holes in her dress covered in dark brown-ish red stains. He’d strangled the girl to death and stabbed her both.

He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and shut his eyes. She was just a child. To have been killed in such a way… she must have been terrified. No wonder he could feel the press of the Veil here, the weakness in its barrier as demons surged to stare. A human murdering one of their most innocent – the amount of rage, of envy and fear and hate, must have been astronomical. He and his spirit partner would have to try to cleanse this place.

He forced himself to look again, only to find that Fenris had knelt beside the body and carefully lifted the girl’s hair from her neck. He made himself think. While it was certainly true that this method of death matched what had happened to the LaDeirns, it was too common to say for certain. The way he left the bodies where they lay kept them from seeing anything too odd; if there had been anything useful or expensive on the bodies, the guards would have already taken them, in order to keep them from being stolen and thus losing clues.

He wondered if they’d had their jewelry still on. Jewelry never lasted on Lowtown corpses; they certainly didn’t usually last in Hightown. But they had with the LaDeirns. He should have asked Aveline. He would… would have to remember to ask when they got back.

Fenris sat back on his feet, his gaze sharp when it pierced Azzan. “This girl should have screamed.”

For a horrible second, Azzan thought the elf meant that a demon had possessed her corpse. Then he realized the man was speaking of the murder itself. He was right; running from someone, getting grabbed from behind – she should have been screaming her lungs out. How, then, had no one heard anything?

A mage?

He hissed in a breath. “One moment.” He was no expert at searching for traces of magic. It was never a study he had had occasion to pick up in Ferelden (they’d been more concerned with templars), and here in Kirkwall, again, his concerns had always lain elsewhere. Of himself and his other mage friends, he was likely the least learned in this method. But still he tried; he called up his spirit and asked for guidance. The spirit, troubled in the way spirits could be, in that they see something that goes against their nature, that urges them to make it stop, gave of its own power. He pulled out his staff and concentrated. The house was empty of life, save for himself and Fenris; outside the building, he found no trace of life in the adjacent homes, only in the still-moving bodies of Merrill and Isabela. Strange. Why was no one near the building? Hiding in their homes, he could understand, but abandoning them altogether? Had someone seen or heard something, after all? Or had they been paid to go somewhere else and not ask questions?

He struggled to find traces of those who had been in this room. He could see the demons more strongly now, could feel them as they watched him, could feel their desire to reach out to him. He shut a mental barrier between himself and them and watched where they stood. Over the girl’s body, they grouped the greatest, so heavy against the Veil they seemed almost to move within one another, turning into a conglomerate of fear and despair and rage. Worse, he could feel a spirit beginning to turn. Without thinking, he abandoned his search and reached out for that spirit.

Faith, he thought to his spirit partner. Get it out of here, if it’s not too late.

And he was wrenched from his search as his spirit left his side. He floundered for a moment, lost between that which he’d seen from the Fade and the sudden snap back to his own world. He looked at Fenris. “I can’t tell. I’m sorry.”

Fenris shook his head. “It’s good to know you have some weaknesses.” Azzan wasn’t sure how to take that statement, and Fenris had already turned back to the dead body. “There are no other wounds here, no signs of struggle beyond some scraped fingers. We should return to the mother.”

Azzan watched as Fenris stood up, dusting off his pants and checking the armor on his fingers, likely for residual blood or something. He clenched it a couple of times, then moved on. It would seem Fenris was very, very used to this sort of scene. Azzan hurt for him. Perhaps drinks would be a good idea.

He followed, feeling suddenly like a fifth wheel. Fenris went straight to the woman’s body and knelt down beside her, as well. His hands were gentle as they lifted her head, moving the hair out of the way once more. And again, there were clear marks on her neck, signs of strangulation. This woman’s dress only seemed wrinkled from the hard-packed flooring, the wrinkles predominantly on the front of her dress, where she’d fallen. Three more stab wounds colored the yellow dress brown-ish red, the blood long dried on the fabric, on the skin beneath.

Fenris searched her quietly. Not knowing what else to do, Azzan called upon the remaining feel of his spirit, enough to guide a healing force around them both. It wasn’t necessary; neither of them were injured. But the feeling always brought him comfort. He hoped it would do the same for Fenris, and not make him tense. The elf looked up at him for a moment, but, at seeing Azzan stood at ease, looked back down. If he had a problem with Azzan’s magic, he didn’t comment.

“Something’s strange here,” Azzan said, his voice quiet. “You’re right; there should have been noise. A child screaming would have gotten _someone_ talking, if nothing else. I’ve heard of powerful magic that can silence a person, even a number of people, usually for assassination purposes. But this is something different. It’s as if someone locked all sound away inside this house.”

“The work of a demon,” Fenris said, standing. “I’ve heard of it before.”

Azzan closed his eyes for a moment. “This person – if these murders are connected, then they’re targeting allies of templars. The LaDeirns were open supporters; this family was one of a templar’s. I can’t say for certain that these are linked, but if they are, then we have a rogue mage on our hands.”

Fenris stood, his face contorting into a glare. “This must make things better for you. Less people to make trouble for your mage friends.”

Azzan pulled his shoulders back. “These are innocent people, Fenris. And for your information, no, it doesn’t make anything easier. Mages who openly attack innocents in the name of defense or justice make all of us seem like criminals. The world would already have me locked up simply for being born. People like this just reaffirm that belief.”

Fenris looked at him for a moment, those bright eyes searching. He looked away. “You’re right. I apologize.”

It was a monumental feeling, to hear Fenris accept him. His spirit returned to him, following the bright light of the happiness that flared within him. Apparently, the spirit they’d found had been saved in time, though it needed to heal. He took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Fenris nodded. “Your friend, however, would likely disagree. You should speak to him.”

Anders. Azzan wanted to protest, but something stopped him. He’d seen the anger in Anders’ eyes whenever the templars were involved in something. He’d seen the bristling hatred that simmered just beneath the surface. Though it had been negligible when they’d been first acquainted, he thought there was a darkness growing in the man the longer they remained in Kirkwall. For someone haunted by the Circle, Kirkwall was perhaps the worst place to be.

He nodded. “You’re right. If anyone would know, it’s him.” He didn’t know if he wanted Anders to have the knowledge so they could go after the killer, or if he wanted Anders to be ignorant of the person and their whereabouts, and thus show that he hadn’t fallen that far.

Isabela and Merrill walked back in through the front door. “They came in through the back bedroom window. It hadn’t been jimmied normally, even though it had been locked. Merrill found traces of a demon’s touch.”

Her demon had felt the presence of another. He wondered if his spirit would have done the same, if he hadn’t sent it out to protect another. He nodded at the news, however, and turned to Fenris. The elf stood and backed away from the body, his gaze already turned on Isabela. He gritted his teeth and looked to Merrill. “Good job, Merrill. That confirms our own suspicions, then. A mage did this.”

“Is it possible a mage also harmed the family beside your estate?” Isabela asked. She winked at Fenris. The elf rolled his eyes and smirked.

“I don’t know. I highly doubt a mage would accidentally attack a templar’s home for their wares, however.” There was always the chance, of course; the attacker may not have known this family was special in any way. But the murders were so violent, the chances of them being caused by a simple burglar were slim to none. It left a deliberate, angry assault as the only reason. Whether it was linked to the LaDeirn family massacre or not was something else.

Stabbing and strangulation was overkill, but he didn’t remember the women in the LaDeirn residence dealing with both. Some had been stabbed, a couple had been strangled. Never both. Was this some sort of escalation? Had the person been bored with only two victims? Or was it simply someone else entirely doing this? He raked a hand through his hair. “Well, whether this is linked to the LaDeirns is up in the air. But at least we have a few leads for Aveline. We should speak to Anders, then return to her.”

“Anders?”

He looked to Merrill, then Isabela. The woman hadn’t looked away from Fenris. He cleared his throat. “I’ll go and speak with him. Merrill will come with me. You two,” and he had to push the words out of his mouth, “check and see if anyone’s lived in the neighboring houses for the last week or so. They were empty when I searched the rooms here.”

“They were empty for me, too,” Merrill said, even as she stepped a little closer to him. She looked like she wanted to hug him. “But there weren’t any traces of anything magical or demonic or anything, so I didn’t think it worth mentioning.”

Azzan ignored the annoyed look Fenris threw Merrill’s way. “Whatever you find, meet us at the Hanged Man. I’ll report back with you before taking all the information to Aveline. Agreed?”

“Sounds good to me. Fenris and I can get the party started without you.”

He smiled. Hopefully, the smile didn’t look like the grimace it felt like. “That’s the plan.” He turned to leave.

“Well, then. Let’s get this over with and see what those hands of yours can do with a pint. Or after a pint.”

Fenris chuckled. “I think we all know what your hands can do.”

“Now, now,” she said, and waggled her finger as they left the house first. “A lady always keeps a few secrets.”

“Lady, hm?” Fenris said. Azzan turned his head away, his breathing suddenly heavy. The door finally clicked behind them, and their voices faded away.

“Are you all right with that?” Merrill asked, moving to stand in front of him. “Should you really send them together? Alone? Together alone? They seemed really close.”

He hunched his shoulders. “No. I’m not all right with it. No part of me is all right with it. But Fenris is free. Free to choose where he goes and what he does and – and who he spends his time with. I’m not going to demand he stay away from her or try to keep him on some – some kind of leash!” He covered his eyes with one hand. The demonic presence in the building was probably starting to affect him. He needed to get out. “Let’s just go speak with Anders and get this entire mission over with.”

She moved to stand beside him as they made their own way to the exit. The smell in the building hadn’t gotten any better, but over the length of time they’d been inside, he’d grown far more accustomed to it. The fresh air, when they opened the door, was what jerked him out of the odd lethargy that had begun to choke him. He took a deep, deep breath and closed the door behind them. Somehow, Lowtown looked almost bright after the dreariness of the house. The sun splintered through the walls and lit a slit of walkway within the alley. The dull gray shone almost silver in the bright light.

It was time to put his feelings away. He could be a friend to Fenris, if he was lucky enough to maintain the relationship they had somehow fostered over the past three years. He would have to be content with that. And if he wasn’t? If he couldn’t be happy with Fenris and Isabela together?

He walked in a daze, not paying attention to the path he took as he led the both of them down the long steps to the deep haze of Darktown. Merrill kept oddly silent for once, letting him swim in the sea of his thoughts. He feared the murkiness of it, feared what it might mean for his spirit. But, as he turned instinctively toward Anders’ clinic, his spirit didn’t seem fazed in the least. He didn’t understand why. With the almost cruel thoughts circling in his head, the spirit should have been covered in shadows. Instead it seemed almost painfully bright.

He focused inward and listened to the swell of feelings the spirit pushed into his mind. It was… proud of him. Because he’d pushed Fenris away.

He wanted Fenris happy. That was why the spirit didn’t mind the near-anger he felt. He wished Fenris would be happy with him, but, more than even that, he just wanted Fenris happy.

So what if he couldn’t handle what might happen between them? So what if he drowned in his bitterness, at least for a while? So long as he didn’t hurt Fenris, it was fine. So long as he didn’t put himself first, above even those he loved, then it would be all right. He was allowed to be selfish and cruel. He was, after all, only human.

The thoughts actually calmed him. He hadn’t expected them, or anything else, to do so. In fact, he’d expected to get attacked, like usual. Coming down to Darktown almost always meant a fight. But for some reason, just like in Lowtown, he wasn’t bothered by a single bandit or mercenary. How… new. Even the Carta had apparently decided to give him a break.

He stopped just outside the clinic and looked at Merrill. She had her wide eyes peeled, her head swiveling back an forth almost comically in order to look in all directions. She gripped her staff so tightly her knuckles turned white. He smiled. “Thank you, Merrill. For giving me this time.”

She blinked up at him for a moment. “Oh! You’re back!” She released her white-knuckled grip on her staff and put it away. “Good. I was worried you would be quiet like this forever.”

He shook his head. From within the clinic, he heard sounds of people moving, talking. Anders’ voice rose above it all, demanding people be quiet and let him get to everyone one at a time. He looked inside to see the man moving back and forth between two customers, multitasking despite his words. “I needed some time to think. I think, if I’d tried to do so alone, I would have just begun to wallow again. Having a friend stand by my side helped me focus without feeling like I was alone.”

“You consider us friends?” Then, before he could say anything, she raised her hands and shook them. “Not that I don’t! I mean, I would consider us, you know, maybe friendly enemies? Or… people who are friends but don’t agree? Or…”

“Merrill.” He chuckled. “Just because we don’t agree on things that are important to us doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. What’s most important is how we feel about each other.” He pointed between the two of them. “I don’t agree on your view of demons, and I fear what your naïvete will cause. That doesn’t mean I would ever want to see you hurt.”

Her brows furrowed when he mentioned how naïve she was, but the intent of his words seemed to get through the frustration, because she bit her lip and nodded. “Will you be all right?”

He didn’t think so. If Fenris and Isabela really did get together, he didn’t think he would ever truly be all right. But he would survive. And over time, if nothing else, he would be happy for Fenris. He could manage at least that. In time. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

He looked back to Anders just in time to catch the man looking up to see them. Surprise burst across those light blue eyes. Azzan waved. “Hello, Anders! Do you mind if I steal you from your customers for a few moments? I have a few questions to ask you.”

Anders waved a hand. “Come on in. Nothing life-threatening at the moment, but I want to finish with little Jenine here first. That all right?”

'Little Jenine’ was a tall, wide bit of a woman, her hair graying at her temples. She giggled at Anders’ name for her as if she were a blushing teenager. “That’s fine. Your patients come first.” He watched as Anders bent to kneel beside the woman, his face going soft as he spoke. He really didn’t want to think of Anders as the kind of man who fell to his own hatred, but he remembered that same face darkening into bitterness and fury. The very mention of the Circle or the templars always left Anders in a boiling rage.

By the time Anders finally finished with Little Jenine, Azzan was on his way to fearing the worst. He hoped he was overreacting. “All right,” Anders said, washing his hands on a rag despite the fact that all he did was use his magic and put a simple poultice on the woman’s cut leg. “What did you want to ask?”

Azzan silently motioned Anders a bit further away from his patients and lowered his voice. Merrill actually came with him, not letting herself get distracted by the patients or the poultices, as she usually did. “We investigated a murder up in Lowtown today. A wife and child of a templar.” He watched the shadows flare to life in those eyes and hurried forward. “The daughter was maybe six years old. Strangled. Stabbed.” The darkness faded a bit, and Azzan’s heart sighed in relief. “Yet despite the fact that the girl had been running away, despite the fact that the mother had clearly been trying to fend the killer off long enough for her daughter to escape, no one heard anything. And not the fake 'no one heard anything,’ but really. No one heard a single scream.”

Anders’ brows drew low. “You want to know if anyone with magic could have done it, or if there was anyone I know who might have had a grudge against this particular templar.”

“I know it’s a dangerous question, and I don’t want to put other innocent lives in danger asking.” He held up his hands, and another bit of darkness in Anders’ gaze dimmed. “But these were innocent people, Anders. These weren’t mages defending themselves from attacking templars. This was murder. Of a woman and child.”

Anders snarled. “Not like the templars haven’t seen fit to do exactly that to us countless times themselves.” He took a deep breath through his nose. “The magic you speak of is powerful. Not just anyone can do it, and it would involve some sort of formal training.”

“Not if the mage is getting the wrong kind of help,” Azzan said. Merrill huffed behind him, but for once, she didn’t say anything.

Anders hummed softly. “I’ll ask around, see what I can find. I can’t make any guarantees, though. Someone like that, another mage would have reached out by now, warned the rest of us to some sort of danger, or to not associate with them too closely.” He stared at Hawke. “What will you do with them if you find them?”

Azzan shook his head. “It’s not my job to mete out justice, Anders. They’ll be handed over to the guard.”

“They’ll be made Tranquil!” Anders hissed. “Or killed!”

“They murdered a child, Anders! I’m not advocating them being made Tranquil. You know how much I’m against that practice! But she was just a little girl! Are you going to tell me someone able to kill a child isn’t someone who needs to be dealt with, mage or no?”

Anders’ lips thinned. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” He rubbed a hand through his stubble. “I swear to you, I don’t know of anyone who could be capable of doing such a thing. But I’ll ask around. Keep an eye out. You’re right. If nothing else, we need to make sure this person doesn’t get too close to anything important.”

The man’s focus wasn’t on the right thing, but at least he agreed that the killer had to be stopped. Azzan would take his victories where he could. “Thank you, Anders. I appreciate it.”

“You said the girl was no older than six?”

Azzan nodded. Some haunted look entered the man’s gaze.

“I remember the children brought in to the Circle. The dead, hopeless eyes, the cries that rent the walls even after lights out. I remember the templars banging on their doors and ordering them to be quiet, or else they would have something to cry about.” Anders said the words as the templars might have themselves. “I remember how terrified they were, how they’d been made easy prey for the very demons the Circle pretended to guard us against.” He shook his head. “Children can be many things, Hawke. But they are never dangerous or evil. No child deserves to suffer fear or death.”

Anders was still Anders. Thank everything.

“I know.” He placed a hand on Anders’ shoulder. The haunted look did not leave. “We can’t make the world perfect, Anders. But we can work to make it better.”

Anders nodded, his face set. “That’s the plan.”

* * *

The pub was quieter than at night, but no less bustling. Many didn’t have jobs, or took temporary work, or even worked nights. And so the day still saw the tavern filled with customers, men and women alike downing pint after pint in an effort to enjoy life for a few hours. Azzan’s gaze caught on Fenris almost immediately, though he quickly looked away and took a deep breath before looking back. Fenris and Isabela leaned toward each other, obviously having a private conversation. By the set of Isabela’s lips, the conversation could only be going down a certain path.

He girded himself and walked forward, Merrill already off to return home to the Alienage, stating a need to pray to Falon’Din for the two lost lives. He faced walking to the table for two alone. He didn’t look forward to interrupting whatever was happening between the two. But just the thought of waiting and watching from a distance made the bile in his stomach churn threateningly.

Isabela was the first to see him, since she faced the door to the building. Odd; Azzan would have thought Fenris to be the one most paranoid about seeing the people in the room. Or perhaps the man trusted Isabela to warn him if anything untoward was about to happen. “All I’m saying,” the woman said, continuing her conversation, her attention returning quickly to the elf across from her, holding a pint in his hand, “is you shouldn’t be so willing to write off those tattoos of yours. They bring out your eyes. And, mm, other parts.”

Fenris chuckled wryly. “Yes, of course. My eyes.” Then the man, having likely seen Isabela’s earlier diverted attention, turned to him, as well. His neck craned slightly as Hawke came to stand slightly behind and beside him. “Hawke. Any news?”

He shook his head. “No. Anders said he would ask around, but I’m not going to hold my breath. Someone like that would either be very obvious or very discreet. The fact that Anders can’t think of the man off the top of his head means he’s likely the more discreet type – and far more dangerous for that.”

The dark look in Fenris’ gaze said he didn’t necessarily believe Anders didn’t know who they were looking for, but Azzan let it go. It was a foolish thing to argue about. Only answers mattered at this point. “I take it you didn’t have any luck, either.”

Isabela shook her head. “No, unfortunately. There had been a couple of people living in the houses adjacent, but one left on some far-off job, and the other has been absent for about two weeks now. Some people say the couple owed someone money. Most say the man has been selling the woman on the streets and pissing off the Blooming Rose with their proximity. Who knows?” She shrugged. “The only interesting thing of it is how both of them managed to blow off in the same month, and in Lowtown, that’s not exactly newsworthy, either.”

It wasn’t, but it was still a concern. Although, it might mean the mage in question wasn’t as strong as they’d originally thought. Perhaps they’d had to get those houses empty because the sound barrier wasn’t perfect. That might lower the chances of the mage being terribly strong. Even with a demon’s assistance, a person’s mana didn’t just increase. There were still limits, and those limits had to do with the person’s body. A demon couldn’t make the body access more mana.

He nodded. “Thanks for the information. I’ll take it all to Aveline.”

“You coming back?” Isabela asked. The question was completely innocuous, as far as Azzan could tell; Isabela trailed a single finger along the edge of the lip of her pint, but despite the coy action, her other hand simply propped up her chin as she rested her elbow on the table. Her hair fell over her shoulder as she waited for a response, her attention fully on him for the moment. “You know you’re always welcome to join me.” She winked.

Azzan huffed a laugh. The woman was ridiculous. How could she flirt with both him and Fenris while they stood right next to each other? He wondered if she even meant it. Did she mean it with Fenris? She better not have been stringing Fenris along – but he was pretty sure she wasn’t. If nothing else, she likely wanted a good lay with the man. Perhaps that was all this would be. If so, Fenris likely knew the extent of it all as much as she did.

That didn’t make him feel any better. Any kind of relationship between the two of them left Azzan’s chest burning.

“No. I have some reports to finish from the mine. I might as well get them done, since rest will be a bit difficult tonight.” He smiled a bit and shrugged. “You two enjoy your night.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I always do.” And Isabela laughed out loud. Azzan was pretty certain every person in the room looked over to stare openly at the woman’s throat as she leaned her head back.

Azzan made his escape while the room was distracted. He determinedly did not think of how Isabela and Fenris might spend their night together. He would not let himself fall into that void.

But then he heard Fenris say, “And just how to you intend to spend your night of entertainment?” and he had to go. He had to go, quickly, because that sounded like a leading question if ever he’d heard one.

* * *

He truly did have trouble sleeping that night, though his mind didn’t seem able to choose between the nightmarish image of the little girl and the horrible image of Isabela rolling beneath Fenris with a laugh, her legs spread wide beneath the elf’s hips.


End file.
